


don't you worry 'bout a thing

by ketabat



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The Holiday (2006) Fusion, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Coping, London, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Post-Break Up, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27966494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketabat/pseuds/ketabat
Summary: How does he explain the position he’s in without sounding like, a) a liar, b) a weirdo, c) an overly trusting moron, as Robin eloquently put it.“A murderer?” the dude offers, thick brow hiking high.“Steve,” Steve croaks out.The guy ducks his head, breathing a nasal laugh. “A Steve,” he murmurs. “That one’s new.”“No. I mean. My name. It’s Steve. Steve Harrington. I. Shit, how do I even start explaining this?” Steve mumbles the question to himself, ruffling the back of his bedhead awkwardly.“Let’s start easy,” the blond says. “Why the fuck are you in my house?”or, steve needs time away after a breakup and (recklessly) swaps houses w a stranger he met online.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 119





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yes i know i need to focus on my other wips. yes i need to also focus on my assignments. etc etc. all mistakes are mine. miah planted this in my head. it's just lighthearted stuff ig. enjoy!! <3

“Steve, you’re not _actually_ considering this, are you?”  
  
Steve huffs, breathing a laugh out his nose like, _“No,”_ and, “I’m not _that_ dumb, Rob,” and, “What kind of—” a chuckle, “What kind of question _is that?_ Of course I’m not _considering_ it. That’s just. Crazy. A whole new _level_ of crazy. I can’t—how—”  
  
“You’re considering it.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Steve,” Robin says, states more like.  
  
“Robin,” Steve responds in the same tone, tapping away on his keyboard.  
  
“You can’t be serious.”  
  
“As a heart attack,” Steve mutters. “Stop looking at me. I’m heartbroken. You gotta be supportive of me.”  
  
“Why can’t you cope with breakups the way _everyone_ does?!” Robin retorts. “I’ll buy you a big tub of ice cream and lend a shoulder, we’ll watch Titanic and pretend Nancy Wheeler’s worth crying over. But I _won’t_ let you fly off to trade homes with some posh pervert slash psychopath slash—”  
  
“It’s a girl,” Steve interrupts. “Her name’s Max Mayfield. She’s twenty one. _And_ she’s American, mind you.”  
  
“Oof, that makes it so much better!” Robin laughs out. “Steve, come _on,_ buddy. You’re being— You’re being absurd here. Keith!”  
  
“What?” Keith grumbles from his desk, eyes glued lazily on his computer screen.  
  
“Would you trade houses with some rando from London for a month?”  
  
“She’s _Californian!”_ Steve objects irrelevantly.  
  
“Yeah,” Keith says dopily. “Why not?”  
  
Steve grins, waves his arms in Keith’s direction like _there! told you!_ and, “Knew there’s some use of that guy.”  
  
“He lives in his parents’ basement, of course he’s gonna say yeah,” Robin hisses to him. She gets up from her desk and walks over to him. “Steve. I’m not gonna let you do this. Over my dead body will I let you go through with this.”  
  
Steve hums, sits back in his chair and taps the _Enter_ key dramatically. “Then start digging your grave. ‘Cause I just got myself a ticket to London, baby!”

…

“Don’t get sappy on me, Rob,” Steve mutters. “People are looking. Might get the impression you’re _straight.”  
  
_Robin pulls back hands gripping his arms tightly. “Pepper spray?”  
  
“Third zip.”  
  
“God, I hate you,” Robin pulls him into another hug. “Let me cherish this moment, might be the last time I ever hug you.”  
  
Steve huffs. “Hey, don’t be morbid. I gave you the address. And Max’s deets.”  
  
Robin pulls away again. “Just. Take care of yourself. Call me when you’re there.”  
  
Steve rolls his eyes. “See you later, Robin.”  
  
“C’ya,” Robin responds, stepping back. He turns to leave. “On the black market. In pieces. Because you’re a fucking _moron.”_  
  
Steve can’t help but laugh.

…

There’s a certain exhaustion that comes after a 9 hour flight that can’t be sated with anything but a warm sleep under a gazillion quilts. It’s fucking freezing in London. But Max’s house is. Frankly. _Gorgeous.  
  
_It’s small, barely the size of Steve’s living room and kitchen. Very square. Very warm. Contrasts heavily with Steve’s high ceilings and white walls. It’s not what he was expecting. It’s.  
  
So, _so_ much better.  
  
“Yo. So this is the house I’ll be staying in,” he’s facetiming Robin. “This is the living room, probably where my psychopath will seduce me into a good lungful of chloroform. This is the kitchen. Cutesy and small. Probably where I’ll be chopped up into itty bitty pieces and—”  
  
“Where the fuck are you?”  
  
Steve blinks back to his screen, mouth parting. “Dustin!” he exclaims. “Hey, bud. How are you doing?”  
  
“You’re seriously—” Dustin glares at him best as he can through the camera. “Do you know the number of homicides that occurred in London in twenty nineteen _alone_ , Steve?”  
  
Steve rolls his eyes, rolls them harder when Mike squishes his face next to Dustin’s, his stupid curls dangling down on the camera. “Robin told him to tell you off!”  
  
“Shut it, Cheekbones!” Robin yells over Dustin’s rambling.  
  
“Eighteen point four people per million, Steve,” Dustin states. “Do you hear me? Eighteen point four—”  
  
“Point four?” Steve interrupts, scowling. “Doesn’t add up, kiddo. You’re telling me eighteen people and _two fifths_ every—”  
  
“Don’t be a smartass,” Dustin grumbles.  
  
“How’s college?” Steve pointedly changes the subject. “Where are the rest of you guys?”  
  
“El has a paper due tomorrow so Will’s helping her with it,” Dustin answers, balancing the phone upright to adjust his headphones on his head. “Lucas went to meet his _girrrrrlfriend.”_  
  
“Yuck,” Robin fakes a gag offscreen.  
  
Steve chuckles. “Tell him to text me and tell me how it goes.”  
  
Mike shoves his face into Steve’s line of view again. “Sorry my sister broke your heart by the way.”  
  
“She didn’t _break my heart,”_ Steve mutters, laughing the reiteration out. “Just _chipped_ it. I’ll be fine. London’s great you guys. I’ll see how the prices are,” he looks around him, smiling a little. “Get you a few things.”  
  
“You don’t have to!” Dustin exclaims. “Just come back in one piece!”  
  
Mike scoffs. “Speak for yourself. Get me one of those hats Buckingham Palace guards—” his voice fades for a second when Robin gets a notification. “Y’know, the really long ones—”  
  
“ _Tall_ , Mike,” Dustin corrects.  
  
“Ok, ok. Time up, guys. I need my phone. And papa Steve needs a nap.”  
  
“Don’t call him that, oh my _god,”_ Mike mutters, Dustin’s grumbling agreement following a second later.  
  
Robin’s face comes into view. “Gonna take the kids home—”  
  
“We’re _literally_ twenty one! Old enough to _drink!”_ Mike yells.  
  
“Get some sleep and we’ll talk later, Steve-o.”  
  
Hearing the word _sleep_ has him yawning loudly, nodding his head. “Yeah. Fucking exhausted.”  
  
“Nap tight.”  
  
“It’s night here.”  
  
She rolls her eyes and hangs up.

…

So like. A serial killer could actually slip through the window and slaughter Steve in his sleep and he’d die happy. Content and at ease in a huddle of thick duvets. They smell good. Of sandalwood and something else he can’t quite put a finger on.  
  
It’s raining outside when he wakes up. It should give him the sense of dread that comes with every downpour back in NYC but. Right now? Here? It just feels _nice._ He feels at home in someone else’s house which is fucking ridiculous but no less true than it is. He takes another lungful of sandalwood before pushing the duvet off his body. The clock beside the salt lamp on the bedside table beeps to 12:00AM and Steve groans. His body’s gonna take a few days to get used to the time zone and adjust its circadian clock accordingly.  
  
He climbs out of bed and pulls a t-shirt on before plodding out his temporary room. He could seriously use a snack. Max was nice enough to restock before leaving. He felt bad about it, told her she can order pizza and put it on his tab. She was too nice to accept, _obviously,_ but she appreciated the sentiment. Which reminds him—  
  
His next train of thought and his tread into the kitchen is quickly derailed by the guy standing at the sink.  
  
Fuck.  
  
_Fuck_.  
  
Steve knew this was too good to be true. Too fucking good to be true. He should’ve fucking listened to Robin. Of course a twenty one year old couldn’t afford something this neat. She probably. Just gave him a random address. Or worse. The house address of some— some _hitman_. So she can dwell in his big villa for the rest of her wretched days. That vicious, evil _bitch._ Come to think of it, she _is_ a redhead. And when has a redhead _ever—_  
  
“Wakey wakey, rise and shine, Maxine.”  
  
Steve swallows. Oh. He had it all wrong. Ok. Ok. He can handle this.  
  
“I get it’s pouring out there and you were probably cold but strewing your clothes all over the floor? Seriously? And you call me mes—” the guy turns around. Comes to an abrupt stop when he catches sight of Steve.  
  
Steve licks over his suddenly dry lips. Sort of. Feels self conscious. Because this guy’s gorgeous with his stupid hockey flow blond curls and his ridiculously blue eyes. Steve blinks.  
  
“Did she seriously bring her hookup home?”  
  
“No!” Steve shouts. Quieter, he says, “No. I um. Not a hookup.”  
  
The guy leans back against the counter behind him, gripping it with ringed fingers. “A thief?”  
  
Steve shakes his head lightly. “No. I. No.”  
  
How does he explain the position he’s in without sounding like, a) a liar, b) a weirdo, c) an overly trusting _moron,_ as Robin eloquently put it.  
  
“A murderer?” the dude offers, thick brow hiking high.  
  
“Steve,” Steve croaks out.  
  
The guy ducks his head, breathing a nasal laugh. “A Steve,” he murmurs. “That one’s new.”  
  
“No. I mean. My name. It’s Steve. Steve Harrington. I. Shit, how do I even start explaining this?” Steve mumbles the question to himself, ruffling the back of his bedhead awkwardly.  
  
“Let’s start easy,” the blond says. “Why the fuck are you in my house?”  
  
“ _Your_ house?” Steve echoes back, laughing at the absurdity of it. “Max and I swapped houses until mid-January!”  
  
The guy’s hands clench on the marble of the counter. “She did, did she?” he hisses. “That’s—funny. Since this is _my_ house and I offered her digs out of _hospitality._ Fuck, I can’t believe her. I’m too good of a brother.”  
  
Oh. Her brother.  
  
Steve chews on his bottom lip for a few seconds. Then the guy’s eyes lodge on him, study him head to toe. “I should. Pack,” Steve points a thumb over his shoulder.  
  
“Hey, no,” the stranger responds, shaking his head lightly. “Just don’t get what kind of idiot would even accept this sort of offer.”  
  
“Well, your sister for one.”  
  
He gets a dimpled grin in return. “You come all the way from NY?”  
  
“Yeah uh. How’d you know?”  
  
“She’s been talking about a boy,” the guy waves a hand dismissively, like he doesn’t wanna talk about it. Or he doesn’t wanna tell the full truth. “What did you say your name was?”  
  
“Steve Harrington.”  
  
“Billy,” the response comes a while after the blond echoes Steve’s name back at him. “Sit down. I’m sure you’re starving, Steve Harrington.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve just,,really likes kettles.

“Hello?”  
  
“You have ten seconds to explain yourself,” Billy says. “Go.”  
  
“Look, I—”   
  
“Nine.”  
  
“I know—”   
  
“Eight.”  
  
“Ok. Just stop counting down so I can talk?” Max hisses. It makes Billy purse his lips and tongue the inside of his cheek indignantly. “Look, I should’ve told you.”  
  
“Damn right you should’ve,” Billy snaps.  
  
“I just knew you’d throw a hissy fit and get all protective big bro with me, alright?” Max snaps right back. “I’m turning twenty one soon, Bill. And. I know you’re. Scared. Or. I don’t know. Maybe I’d know what’s going on with you if you actually _spoke_ about your feelings more but whatever.”  
  
Billy pinches the bridge of his nose and plops down on his bed. “Gonna ask you one question, alright? If you lie to me, I swear to god—”   
  
“Ok, _ok_. Shoot.”  
  
“You only do this to see your boy toy?” Billy asks. “Or did you purposely choose the hottest piece of ass with the cutest fucking eyes you could find on the site?”  
  
Max huffs. Then laughs. “Doesn’t hurt that he’s pretty, right?”  
  
Billy groans.  
  
“ _And_ single by the way,” Max provides unprompted.  
  
“So you did this for _me_ ,” Billy states.  
  
“Two birds one stone, baby!” Max’s grinning. He fucking knows it. Smug little _bitch._  
  
“How’s your toy?” Billy asks after a second, combing his fingers through his hair.   
  
“He’s not my toy. And he’s great. I’m going to meet his friends today,” Max replies. “God, this Steve guy’s house is a fucking _mansion,_ Billy. Oh my god. I almost feel bad for sending him to your little hovel.”  
  
Billy’s eyes flicker to his closed door. He smiles a little. “He doesn’t seem to mind,” he replies after a moment. “Swear to god, that guy’s all about the simple life. He was so happy with the kettle he almost cried.”  
  
Max snorts.  
  
“I’ll talk to you later,” Billy says after a second. “Lock the doors and windows and all that.”  
  
“Aye aye, cap’n,” Max responds, stomping a foot through the receiver. “Take care.”  
  
Steve’s pulling his wellington boots on when Billy leaves his room. Black and chic and they make Billy lick over his smile, dampen it. “Going somewhere?” he asks. “It’s pouring out there.”  
  
“So?” Steve asks, looking up at him with a bright smile. “Thought I could, I don’t know, go on a rain hike? I’m not here to mope.”  
  
Billy can’t fight his smile any longer, lets it twitch his lips upwards. “Do you know your way around here?” he asks, amused. He half sits on the arm rest of the couch, watching Steve use his sleeve to shine his boot to perfection.   
  
“Well, no,” Steve sits up, frowning. Like he didn’t think it through that well. He looks at Billy, fucking _pouts._ “But you do?”  
  
“I hate the rain,” Billy replies. “And it’s six am.”  
  
“My biological clock hasn’t sorted itself out yet,” Steve stands up, flicks his hair away from his face. “Why do you hate the rain?”  
  
“I enjoy it from the window without getting wet thank you very much.”  
  
Steve huffs. “Boring,” he mumbles. “What? You just sit at the window and watch the raindrop Olympics?”  
  
Billy laughs, a sudden cackle of laughter that makes Steve’s cheeks gain a little color. “God, sometimes I forget the US isn’t raining ‘round the clock.”  
  
“You’ve been?”  
  
“I’m literally American, Steve.”  
  
Steve scowls. “I like faking accents.”  
  
“You think I’m faking an accent?” Billy tilts his head to catch Steve’s eye.  
  
“Shut up. I know you’re American. Max told me. Just starting conversation.”  
  
Billy nods, slow, like he’s just humoring him. “What d’you like doing in the rain?”  
  
Steve shrugs, reaching for his raincoat and pulling it on. “Taste it.”  
  
“Unhygienic,” Billy comments. Earns himself a glare.  
  
“Enjoy it I guess,” Steve goes on. “And I like the feeling of warmth right after. When you first step back into your house and make yourself something hot and. Y’know. Cozy.”   
  
Billy nods. Doesn’t comment this time. Just stands up with a relented sigh. “Let me grab my jacket.”  
  
Steve beams. “Ok.”

…

They walk a lot, hoodies up and their hands in their pockets. Steve can’t help but glance at Billy every once in a while, see the raindrops hanging on his lashes and the small smile he’s constantly wearing.   
  
“Do you work?” he asks suddenly.  
  
“Gotta. To afford the shack.” Billy turns his head, meets his eye.  
  
Steve nods. “What do you do?”  
  
“What do you think?” Billy questions.  
  
“Model,” Steve blurts. Then clears his throat. “Or y’know. Something like that.”  
  
Billy huffs a small laugh, looking back down at the ground. “With a house like that?” he points a thumb over his shoulder. “No. I’m a farmer. I work down in Kent.”  
  
“Really?” Steve grins. He turns to face Billy, walking backwards. “Like, animals and stuff? Or gardening?”  
  
“Both,” Billy answers.   
  
“Can I come with next time?” Steve presses his hands together imploringly. “I want the full rural experience.”  
  
Billy rolls his eyes, grin lazy on his face. “Yeah, ok. Just. Watch out for the bump behind you.”  
  
Steve turns back around to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with Billy. “I love it here,” he inhales deeply and exhales on a sigh. “Gotta take pictures next time. For the kids.”  
  
Billy blinks and looks at him all weird. “Kids?”  
  
“Not _my_ kids,” Steve rebuts. “I used to babysit a pack of children and they grew on me. They’re like, twenty now.”  
  
Billy lifts a brow.  
  
“Don’t look at me like that.”  
  
Billy looks away, ahead. “Do _you_ work?”  
  
“Yeah. Boring office job at my dad’s.”  
  
“Does he know?”   
  
“That I work for him?” Steve questions, playful. “I’m sure he got word.”  
  
Billy clicks his tongue. “Shut up. That you’re here.”  
  
“Oh,” Steve frowns. “No? I mean. I don’t think he, cares, y’know?”  
  
Billy doesn’t say anything, like he’s waiting for elaboration.  
  
“My parents are divorced,” Steve starts. “My dad cheated on my mom with his secretary and. They split up. Mom moved back to Italy and dad married his secretary and. I was, y’know, kicked to the curb.”  
  
Billy sidles a little closer to him. Doesn’t say anything now either.   
  
“This turned gloomy,” Steve mumbles.   
  
“Let’s go back,” Billy sounds all to excited to. “I’ll make coffee. Let you start the kettle.”  
  
Steve grins wide. “Yeah, let’s go back.”

…

“How old are you?” Steve emphasizes on the question by poking his toe into Billy’s side.  
  
“Twenty five.”  
  
“Haha. Baby,” Steve sticks his tongue out at him.   
  
“How old are _you?”_  
  
“Twenty six.”  
  
Billy throws his head back with a laugh. “Oh, I’m _such_ a baby. Was pushin’ my way outta my mom when you were eating mud from the ground.”  
  
“Hey!” Steve huffs. “I’ll have you know I was _very_ mature for my age. I said my first word when I was nine and a half months old.”  
  
“Yeah?” Billy looks at him. “What was it?”  
  
“Shoes.”  
  
Billy stares at him for a few seconds, then bursts out laughing, burying his face in both hands. “You’re such a dork,” he muffles into his palms.  
  
Steve smiles, touches his feet to Billy’s calf. “You’re freezing,” he comments. “Not used to the weather?”  
  
“I’ve lived here way longer than you,” Billy retorts, looking to the TV. “Just don’t adapt easily.”  
  
Steve nods. “Why’d you leave the US?”  
  
And. Billy’s expression shifts. Closes off. His jaw clenches and he shrugs. “Wasn’t for me. Needed out.”  
  
Steve knows finality when he hears it. He clears his throat, stroking his thumb back and forth on his mug.   
  
“Why are you here? Change of scenery?” Billy questions.  
  
“My girlfriend cheated,” Steve responds. He sniffs, lifts a shoulder like _it is what it is._ “I’m working in a field I couldn’t care less about. Routine kills me. I just needed some time away.”  
  
Billy nods, _understandable._ He takes a breath. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Steve shakes his head. “We’re cool. She’s still my friend,” he’s not used to having all the attention on him, chews on his lip for a moment then leans heavily sideways against the backrest of the couch. “You? Any inamorata slash inamorato?”  
  
Billy hums, squinting at the ceiling in a theatrical display of reflection. “None. Not at the moment, no,” he breathes out. “Going steady isn’t my thing.”  
  
Steve nods slowly. “Right.”  
  
Billy opens his mouth to speak but Steve’s phone rings before he can get a word out. “Shit, sorry,” Steve mumbles, lifting himself to grab his phone from under his ass.  
  
“Great, you’re still alive,” Robin greets once he accepts the video call. “How’s the brother?”  
  
Steve’s eyes flicker up to Billy, who ducks his head to hide a smirk, that _fucker._ “He’s sitting right here,” Steve responds, glaring at the camera.  
  
Robin snorts. She’s moving around in her apartment kitchen. “Just wanted to check on you, see if you’re still in once piece,” she says, attention elsewhere. “I’m making lasagna.”  
  
Steve huffs. “You only make lasagna when I’m not around.”  
  
“Because you’ll wolf it down before I have the chance to put it on the table,” Robin retorts.  
  
Billy points a thumb over his shoulder, mouthing ‘ _should I go?’_ which, _soft._ Steve shakes his head at him, waving a hand. ‘ _No need.’  
  
_“Wait,” Steve says. “You rarely make lasagna. What’s the special occasion?”  
  
“You leaving, _duh,”_ Robin smirks at the camera and continues to stir whatever she has on the stove.  
  
Steve rolls his eyes with a tut of his tongue. “You have a date.”  
  
“I don’t!” Robin sputters.  
  
“Who’s the special girl?” Steve goes on like she hadn’t tried rebutting his accusation.  
  
“The chick down the hall,” Robin mutters.  
  
“The girl who stole your mail then called me a stalker?” Steve lifts a brow.  
  
“My knightess in shining armor,” Robin sighs wistfully. “Knightess?” she frowns. “Is there a female equivalent to knight?”  
  
“Dame,” Billy suddenly says.  
  
Steve looks up at him. Robin simpers. “Thank you, Maxine’s Hot Brother.”  
  
Billy’s brows fly up, surprised. Steve feels like his face is about to fucking melt off. “Rob, shut _up,”_ he grits out.  
  
Robin cackles. Billy closes his mouth on his chuckle but there are laugh lines creasing the skin around his eyes. “Haha, very funny,” Steve says to him. “Anyway. How’d Lucas’s date go?”  
  
“Oh my _god,_ he’s so,” Robin stops, face scrunching up like she’s disgusted. “Straight, y’know?”  
  
Steve laughs.  
  
“He got her this. Skateboard necklace or something. ‘Cause she’s a skater,” Robin goes on. “And it’s like, actual fucking silver with a little diamond. You know what, I’ll tell him to call you. He’ll tell you how it went with genuine enthusiasm.”  
  
Billy’s frowning. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Doesn’t say anything.  
  
“Anyways, I’ve gotta go,” Robin groans. “I think I burnt the sauce. Take care, dingus.”  
  
Steve hangs up and looks at Billy. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “She really likes hearing herself talk. And embarrassing me.”  
  
Billy’s smile is small, a little fond. He’s so pretty Steve feels like he’s about to _die._ “Don’t worry about it. Livin’ here makes me miss loudness.”  
  
Steve bites on the corner of his lip and looks down into the dregs of his drink.  
  
“Is this Lucas guy good?”  
  
Steve’s caught off guard by the question. He looks up. “The best,” he replies. “All of them are.”  
  
Billy nods. “Good,” he says, more to himself. “I can cook.”  
  
“Ha?” Steve blinks out of his thoughts. “Really?”  
  
“Yeah, I mean,” Billy shrugs. “If you want I’ll show you how to make lasagna. You can, help. Or not. Your choice.”  
  
“Ok,” Steve flings the duvet off himself. “But I’m warning you, I’m a _disaster_ in the kitchen. I can’t even boil an egg.”  
  
Billy chuckles. “Come on,” he nods his head to the side. “I’ll show you how to boil an egg using the kettle.”


End file.
